


90 degrees

by exbex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex





	90 degrees

Molly’s most frequent fantasy used to feature Sherlock. Of course, all of her fantasies used to feature Sherlock, but this particular fantasy has been a favorite of hers, off and on, for a few years, and if it’s now one she indulges in more frequently than ever, maybe due to how dirty it really is or some other deep-seated issue that she has no desire to explore, then what of it?

It always begins with her pinned to the bed having her hands bound to the bedpost, the man in black then pulling his ski mask off to reveal the smirking face of someone she knows. It used to be then that Molly would lose a bit of patience with the fantasy and skip the dialogue to get straight down to sex-against-her-will-that-isn’t really, since the fantasy almost never fails to make her come hard, usually with two of her fingers or her favorite vibrator inside of her.

These days the fantasy is less spontaneous. Molly likes to prep with a long bath and then retire to the bedroom. Once she’s comfortable and ready, she takes her time and lets the film reel of her mind begin.

She never sees the man in black as she enters the bedroom, unaware of his presence until he has one arm around her waist and the hand of the other clapped over her mouth. It’s then what she hopes is ridiculously easy to wrestle her to the bed, then put her wrists into handcuffs and secure her arms to the headboard. The moment of reveal still occurs as it always has, with the knowing smirk and those eyes, except now, fantasy Molly is stunned into silence by realization that it’s dependable, kind Greg Lestrade who has broken into her flat.

The fantasy also now features dialogue, where before the entire thing always played out with none. “Shh,” the now very un-Greglike Greg says as he draws his gloved index finger across her lips. “No one is going to find out now, are they Molly?” Fantasy Greg doesn’t wait for an answer, choosing instead to assume and very confidently remove the gloves and slowly slide the hem of Molly’s oversized t-shirt over her hips, then torso, then chest. The fantasy then loses all semblance of realism as fantasy Greg knows exactly how   
Molly likes her breasts touched, then slides his hands down to lift her hips for easier access as he stops only momentarily to pull out his cock out and enter her in one easy thrust.

Molly has never bothered to finish the script, as it’s unnecessary for more than one reason, chiefly because she is almost always left panting and sated.

**

Unnecessary describes the truth that Molly has developed a crush on Greg. It’s not the fantasy by itself that leads her to this realization; Greg is not the first attractive acquaintance that has featured in her imagination. It’s the way that she finds herself enjoying his presence more than usual, the way she’s cataloguing his various good qualities. But it’s unnecessary because Molly is done with infatuations, just as she’s done with blind dates and being set up by friends and dancing at clubs. If she’s also spending more and more time working and sleeping, and if she’s stopped purchasing her favorite wine because she’s worried that she’s going to begin medicating instead of drinking, then that’s fine. That’s just what one has to do to survive sometimes. That’s what she tells herself.

One surprising new development in her life involves Sherlock, who has started bringing lunch to her office at the morgue. They talk mostly of cases and interesting causes of death and a little bit about how nice life theoretically is after Moriarty: The Sequel. 

It is nice, after the initial oddness abates. Even if it’s not the most conventional of friendships, it feels real.  
Sherlock doesn’t stop being his usual atypical (there’s an oxymoron if ever one existed) self, and it’s during one of their lunch non-dates late in the week that he confirms her assumptions.

“Are you alright?”

Molly freezes in her motion of tearing apart the remaining crusts of her sandwich. Somehow she gets the feeling that she has tuned out a monologue about ash or perfume or cooking oil. She looks up to give him reassuring smile and a ‘yeah, of course’ but this script does not pan out as written. Instead, tears come to her eyes unbidden, and she has to look back down quickly to keep them from spilling over.

She expects Sherlock to become slightly flustered. Lesser things have done so. Instead Sherlock just gives her arm a squeeze and then returns to ranting about the incompetence of forensic investigators.

**

By the time Molly is next asked the question, she’s far better equipped to answer it, having spent some time talking about things rather than attempting to drown them. If it’s not a complete 180, it’s at least a 90 degree shift in her well-being.

It’s the end of the day, everyone else has left, and she allows herself to indulge in another fantasy, fantasies, being, after all, quite harmless. Molly has the reassurances of her therapist that her fantasies are “a healthy expression of a woman who is open to sexual experience,” and “perhaps a desire to take risks expressed within the safety of a fantasy.” 

As this is the end of a Thursday, Molly has what she’s seen expressed as a ‘meh’ reaction and allows herself to sit down behind her desk and lean back in her chair. 

Same lead, different location. Fantasy Molly is still wearing her sensible flats and top, but she also has a mid-thigh skirt. Fantasy Molly has just entered her office. Fantasy Greg, confident as always, doesn’t try to muffle the sound of the door opening. Fantasy Molly is apparently both as timid as most people assume real Molly to be, and has a sense of the inevitable, because she doesn’t resist as Greg tugs her arms behind her back to put her wrists in handcuffs. She shivers as he sweeps her hair to one side of her neck and begins to trail kisses along the other. “Did you miss me?” he whispers into her ear.

Greg, as usual, doesn’t wait for an answer, just slowly walks in a circle around Molly. Once facing her, he sits down in her chair and places his hands on her waist, guiding her toward him. He slides his hands beneath her skirt to divest her of her knickers before unzipping his own trousers. Molly gasps as he pulls her down to straddle him, thrusting into her. “Have you kept our secret, Molly?” When she doesn’t answer he removes his hands from her hips and forcefully tears her shirt apart, sending buttons flying in various directions. “Have you kept our secret?” he repeats as cups her breasts. Molly pants out a yes, out of fear and arousal. “That’s a good girl,” Greg growls, “because I just can’t seem to get enough of you.”

“Molly?” In the real world, Molly hasn’t bothered to close the door to her office and she startles as real-world Greg says her name and knocks tentatively on the open door.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you alright?” Greg’s concerned look is leagues away from the look that his fantasy counterpart sports, and Molly is able to compose herself enough to stand up and give him a shaky smile. “No worries Greg, I think I just dozed off for a moment there.” 

If Greg suspects that Molly is fibbing, he doesn’t show it. “Okay, well…” and suddenly he looks sheepish and fidgety, and Molly wants to kiss him or do some equally silly and revealing thing.

Greg straightens and looks her in the eye. “I had some excuse made up to come talk to you, but I’ve just remembered that I’m not fourteen. Molly, I know this might seem a bit forward, and I want you to know that nothing has to change, but I actually came to ask you to have coffee with me, as, well, not-friends. If that’s…alright.” 

It’s a painfully awkward pause as Molly tries to process the unexpected development. A small part of her says that she ought to politely turn him down, that she has too much baggage right now, that she’s risking her friendship with Greg.

Fortunately there’s a more sensible part of her that also happens to be louder. Handsome, sensible, intelligent, good Greg is a more than reasonable alternative to the blind dates and set-ups and other dating failures.

“How about tomorrow, after work?” 

Greg’s answering smile is enough to settle her stomach. “Can I walk you out?” he asks.

It’s as easy as ever between them, if a bit more charged, as he walks her all the way to the Tube station. Molly has nearly forgotten what it’s like to look forward to things, and she catches herself fantasizing on the way home, only this time about she and Greg sipping coffee and reading the paper in bed, about watching telly with his head in her lap. 

Though milder than her previous fantasies, it also feels riskier to indulge in. But if things have the potential to backfire, it’s okay; real-world Molly has the backbone for it.


End file.
